


scandals

by nightbirdrises



Series: Sinking 'verse [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbirdrises/pseuds/nightbirdrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I meant it, you know. I want you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	scandals

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for this segment: public dirty dancing, underage drinking, slight breathplay. At "a new, more modern song," you can play [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6K-vlCzP1Zo) if you like.
> 
> You can read Sinking in chronological order using [this page](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/sinking), or you can read it in the order of events as I wrote them [here](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/tagged/v%3A+sinking/chrono).

Blaine wasn’t sure what he expected, but the sight of the small run-down bar with its flickering neon sign was somewhat disappointing. He’d never been to a gay bar before, of course, but Scandals just looked dismal as he pulled into the lot. Then again, it was Ohio.

He parked the tiny charcoal sedan that used to be his brother’s and took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. This was just another date — granted, he hadn’t had many of those in the past (a scattered few with boys from Dalton was the extent of his experience), so that thought wasn’t particularly comforting.

"So you’re just going to march in there without an ID?" 

Blaine blinked; he already had a hand on the front door of the bar. He didn’t have to look up to know who had spoken.

"I forgot," he muttered (to himself; Kurt obviously couldn’t hear him), and turned to his right, where Kurt was propped leisurely against the wall, silver earrings glinting dully in the little light there was. Blaine noticed something new — a diamond nose stud, fairly small and unassuming.

He started to speak, but stopped when Kurt shook his head and dug into a pocket, pulling out a card and handing it to Blaine.

"I’m not thirty-seven…"

"And I’m not from Hawaii, but they don’t give a fuck. The ID stuff is mostly for show so they don’t get in trouble."

Kurt looked him up and down, humming appreciatively. Blaine shifted in his place — he hadn’t exactly planned his outfit down to the tiniest detail, having been distracted, but it seemed like Kurt approved. He tried not to be too pleased about that.

"You’d make a pretty thirty-seven year-old," Kurt said, a corner of his mouth turned up in an appraising smile. "Okay, rules."

"Rules?"

"Mhm. No talking — I can’t hear you, I can’t hear myself, and there’s a good chance you won’t be able to hear me in there."

"But—"

"You’ll be fine, handsome. Just stick around me and use body language. I happen to know that you’re pretty talented with that body of yours."

Kurt gestured for Blaine to go in first, not paying attention to the way he stuttered over a sentence that wasn’t even coherent in his own thoughts. Finally he pushed the door open and stepped inside, anxious as he showed the fake ID to the man sitting on a stool there — he looked a bit tipsy, if Blaine had to guess, and there were no questioning looks thrown his way.

As they made their way to the bar, Blaine took the opportunity to get a good look around. Scandals was more lively on the inside — but that wasn’t saying much. Most of the men were likely in their mid-to-late thirties, and most were wearing faded flannel shirts.  _Ohio._ The main room was dark except for some colored lights shining on the dance floor, a few vintage, suggestive neon signs, and the blue glow that illuminated the drinks at the bar.

"Hey, kid," the bartender said as they approached. Blaine turned to Kurt, but he was preoccupied with shaking his head at a man that was leering rather dangerously at him. "You— Helmet Head."

"Me?" Blaine asked, watching the balding man behind the counter almost fearfully. He swore he could  _hear_  Kurt’s eye roll behind him.

"Uh-huh. You new here?"

"Yeah."

"First one’s on the house, then," he said, sliding a bottle towards Blaine. "I get the feeling you’re a beer kinda guy."

"Sometimes," Blaine mumbled, taking it. "Thanks, uh…"

"Tom." The man — Tom — glanced at Kurt, who was surveying the room with his back to the bar. "He bring you here?"

Blaine nodded, wondering if he was about to be chastised or given a disapproving glare for having the nerve to go somewhere with Kurt Hummel. That seemed to be the trend around here, after all.

"Huh. Weird."

"Why’s that?"

"He never brings guys here, just takes ‘em away. You must really be something."

Blaine didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded again and gave the bartender a little smile. He wasn’t sure he believed Tom’s words, especially since he’d known Kurt (barely) for only a week. He couldn’t be anything to anyone, much less someone he rarely spoke to, could he? He was just  _Blaine_.

"Should I get him something?" Blaine asked, unsure.

"Nah, he don’t drink. I’ve never seen him with anything, at least."

A soft tap on his shoulder, and Blaine turned around to face Kurt, whose expression was oddly soft for a moment before returning to his usual faint smirk. Kurt tipped his head to the dance floor, which was relatively empty, and began to walk away. Blaine stood there with his beer in hand, stunned, as Kurt deliberately swayed his hips from side to side until he reached a half-asleep man that appeared to be in charge of the music and whispered something into his ear.

"I’d take a swig of that if I were you, kid," Tom said from behind him, and Blaine didn’t question it — he took a few tentative sips, wincing at the bitter taste.

 _Not too much_ , he told himself. He wanted to remember this later, whatever it turned out to be, and he didn’t have the best track record with alcohol.

Blaine stood against the counter and watched Kurt from across the room as the drink slowly allowed him to relax, its warmth humming through his bloodstream. Kurt seemed to be having some difficulty returning to the bar, as he carelessly declined each of the advances made towards him. Clearly, he was no stranger to this scene. Blaine, on the other hand…

Kurt stopped about halfway to the bar and in the middle of the floor, crooking his finger at Blaine and beckoning him. Blaine didn’t hesitate to set his not-quite-empty bottle on the counter and make his way to Kurt, grinning as he did so, having been relieved of most of his inhibitions.

Just before Blaine reached him, Kurt turned back to the man he had been speaking to and nodded — a new, more modern song began to play, to the obvious annoyance of some of the older patrons of the bar.

Blaine opened his mouth to say something — something alcohol-induced, no doubt — but Kurt put his finger to his lips and grasped Blaine’s shoulder with his other hand to pull him closer. Blaine let himself be tugged into Kurt’s space, nearly out of breath already from the scent of him alone, strong at the base of his neck where Blaine found himself mouthing lightly against the skin.

 _Too much_ , he thought vaguely, but he didn’t have the capacity to care. Kurt was close and so very real — and draping his arms across Blaine’s shoulders, leaning in.

"I meant it, you know," he whispered, hot and low in Blaine’s ear. "I want you."

Blaine wanted to respond, almost did, but he remembered the rule somewhere in the back of his mind — and, in any case, he lost whatever he’d been planning to say when Kurt urged him to turn around, hands moving to his hips and fingers dancing too-light at the dip of his waist.

He found himself pressed flush against Kurt’s chest, heard a second, less urgent whisper of “I can stop anytime,” and couldn’t imagine ever wanting this to stop.

 _Way, way too much._  But not enough.

Still not enough, even as Kurt’s hips rolled against him — he lost himself to the music and the alcohol and most of all to Kurt, the way he felt, a sense of satisfaction sparking when Blaine noticed more than a couple of glares pointed in his direction.

One of Kurt’s hands left his waist and stroked up Blaine’s arm, stopping to rest gently against the side of his neck, fingers settling feather-light on his throat.

"You like them watching, don’t you?" Kurt asked, and Blaine nodded. "Let them hear you."

It occurred to Blaine somewhere in the haze of his mind that this was how  _Kurt_  could hear him — by feeling the words and sounds before they could even be heard by anyone else.

"Too hard?" Kurt asked, strangely gentle, as he added pressure to Blaine’s throat, thumb rubbing idly across the skin at the back of his neck. Blaine shook his head — his breathing was only barely impeded, and he  _wanted_  Kurt to hear him in his own way. Not to mention that the sensation, of being short of breath because of Kurt, was surprisingly intimate; Blaine realized in an instant that he trusted the boy, trusted him enough to do this. Trusted him enough to do just about anything, in fact.

Tired of treading water, he let himself sink into Kurt’s everything — his mystery, his presence, the too-close not-enough heat of his skin felt through too many layers.

If anyone else had a problem with it, he would deal with that later.

Blaine, never one to willingly disappoint, let himself go under the touch of Kurt, moaning low in his throat and grinning to himself when Kurt lost his rhythm for a moment.

"Want you," Kurt growled, voice broken and no longer as carefully controlled. Blaine took in a sharp breath as he felt Kurt hard against his ass and shamelessly grinding into him. And that, that  _was_  too much.

"Kurt," he managed to grit out, hoping he would notice.

"Hm?"

"We should, um, we should—"  _Cool down, go somewhere more private, what?_

"Got it," Kurt hummed, and he turned Blaine back around to face him, arms around his shoulders once again and swaying slowly. "This okay?"

"I— Yeah, it’s perfect," Blaine said, careful to let Kurt see his lips form the words. And it was perfect, the two of them dancing slowly in the way Blaine had only dreamed of as a child after watching Disney movies — except this time, Kurt was his prince.

He had no explanation for why Kurt had opted to cool down — given the rumors and the way people talked about him, Blaine had expected the polar opposite of what they were doing. He wasn’t complaining, though, because Kurt was smiling at him with a soft, genuine expression that was like nothing Blaine had ever seen.

 _You always zig when I think you’re about to zag_ , Blaine thought as his heartbeat slowed to a relatively normal pace. They remained that way for a while, both of them ignoring the music and people around them.

Eventually, however, they broke to return to the bar, Kurt frowning as he brushed a pink strand of hair out of his face. It was kind of adorable.

"That was just about the most confusing thing I ever saw," Tom muttered when they got there. "But, and don’t tell anyone I said this, it was kinda sweet."

Blaine laughed, still breathless. His mind was spinning — and it wasn’t the alcohol, which had started to wear off.

Kurt’s demeanor had returned to normal, and he smirked as he asked, “Do you need a ride home?”

"Sure— We’re not staying?" Blaine checked his watch — it wasn’t very late, not for a Friday night.

"I have other things to do," Kurt said with a shrug. Brows furrowed, Blaine stared at him. Other things?

"Oh. Okay."

Kurt led the way outside (Blaine made sure to wave farewell to Tom, who rolled his eyes in response).

"You didn’t drive here?" Blaine asked when Kurt gestured for him to lead the way to his car. Kurt shook his head.

"I can walk."

So Blaine took Kurt to his car and they got in, Blaine feeling apprehensive outside of the bar’s freeing atmosphere. Kurt said nothing except to ask Blaine to write down his address and show it to him, which he did, and they left the Scandals lot, Kurt at the wheel, soon after.

It was an uncomfortable ride, what with Kurt being silent and expressionless and Blaine being afraid to ask the questions that kept pressing at the forefront of his thoughts —  _What are we? What was tonight? Am I just another guy?_

They arrived at Blaine's house in about half an hour, and Kurt handed the keys back before climbing out. Blaine got out after shaking his head in a fruitless attempt to clear his mind — but found himself being pinned against his car, lips meeting his with the clack of teeth meeting Kurt’s piercing and fingers dipping below the waistband of his jeans.

Before Blaine could respond, Kurt pulled away. He put his hands in his pockets and grinned at Blaine, who was slumped against the car and utterly bewildered.

"Have a good night, handsome. See you at school." And he walked away, lighting a cigarette as he went, the flame bright in the darkness.

It wasn’t until Blaine had returned to the privacy of his room and started to change that he noticed the paper tucked —  _oh my god, how?_  — into the waistband of his pants. It was the same paper he had written his address on, but there was something more on the back.

 _Text me sometime_ , it read, and Blaine’s eyes widened at the number written just below.

And under that,  _For any reason._

Blaine bit his lip and took out his phone, entering the number into his contacts despite the misgivings he had about doing so. A number wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? Maybe he’d need a last-minute project partner one day. That was what happened in these situations, right? Good guy works on project with mysterious guy, they fall in love and ride a motorcycle into the sunset.

Okay, maybe he was going a bit overboard with this. He opened a new message.

  
**To: Kurt**  
You’re sneaky.

  
A reply came lightning-quick.

  
**From: Kurt**  
I prefer the term opportunistic. Shouldn’t you be getting a good night’s sleep, as all great athletes don’t?

  
**To: Kurt**  
It’s not even 11 yet… on a Friday.

  
**From: Kurt**  
And you’re worried that I’m off fucking some other guy. Don’t worry so much, pretty boy. Contrary to what you’ve probably heard, I do have the ability to take these things seriously.

  
Blaine blinked at the message, both pleased that Kurt had understood his implication and confused at the last statement.

  
**To: Kurt**  
What do you mean by ‘seriously?’

  
**From: Kurt**  
I think you know the answer to that. Goodnight.

  
Blaine took that as a dismissal and sent a final ‘Goodnight’ message back before flinging himself onto his bed. If his hunch was correct (and he had a feeling it was), Kurt was willing to be  _with_  him.

Kurt was still a mystery, and Blaine wondered uneasily about his unpredictable nature. What if things went horribly wrong down the line, what if he didn’t really matter and he’s just a ‘pretty boy’ to Kurt?

He resolved to clear that up as soon as possible, but for now, he let himself imagine being in a Disney movie like he hadn’t done since he was young.

Except this time, Kurt was his prince. And he was more than okay with that.


End file.
